Say It With Music
by Samwise Baggins
Summary: Dungeon Master takes us through random events in the past, present, and future possibilities of the Young Ones.
1. Creation, Destruction

TitleCreation, Destruction

Author: Sam  
Series: Say it With Music 0 of ? (Prologue)

Rating: G: General  
Character: Dungeon Master

Summary: The beginning: DM views events which the Children of Power will eventually live through.

Spoiler: Basically, random episodes from the Animated D&D series, as well as the un-aired "Requiem" episode by Michael Reeves.

Category: Fantasy, General

Disclaimer: Dungeons and Dragons is a trademark of TSR and the cartoon is a creation of many peoples, including Marvel Productions, TSR inc., Saban Entertainment, and Wizards of the Coast. I am in no way connected with these people, and I do not claim ownership to these characters, lands, or names. I have borrowed them to share a story... and most likely not a story any of them would have written had they had the time or no. I am making no money from this, and it is just for my entertainment, and that of free entertainment to a select group of friends. Thank You.

Distribution: Please ask first?

Setting: The Realm (sort of)

Note: In celebration of the 20th Anniversary of Dungeons & Dragons Cartoon: This is an introductory chapter I am putting on. The chapters do not go in any particular order.

Second Note: This idea came from Zakiyah's Anniversary Contest. Please, check into her contest as well: Adventures in Kyr. It looks to be a fun twist in the lives of our heroes, and an entertaining contest. Thanks for the idea, Zakiyah!

Song Note: Based on the song _2000 Years_ by Billy Joel, performed only at his _Millennium Concert_ in NYC. I have the lyrics available if requested.

Feedback: Feedback: Please? I love comments.

-----

As darkness swirled around, silence blending in the starless void, a sense of anticipation slowly seeped across everything. Expectation and wonder to behold: nothing was written, nothing recorded, nothing past... the worlds had yet to be born. Plans were about to blossom and tragedy and triumphant were about to be born.

The first light dawned, pale and small. As time passed, it grew, slowly at first, until it sprung into full flame. Eons or seconds shifted, without number or record, as sky sundered from sea and day from night. Land emerged, great cataclysmic events unfolded. Stars winked, clouds swirled, rain fell, seasons turned. Life evolved.

As plants and animals developed, they felt a need to live, grow, dominate. Hunting gave way to disagreements, which in turn succumbed to war. One after another, groups diverged and claimed territories, killing for desire rather than necessity. Intellect floundered.

Darkness beyond night or void began to take hold of the worlds. There was no end in sight for the tragic ravages of death, disease, and greed. Great civilizations rose and fell, and still terror reigned. There would be no hope until one person would step forward and call for unity, for peace.

And with that one voice a new era would be born.

Lying on his side, among worn cushions of velvet and satin, the mage known simply as Dungeon Master sighed slowly. He ran an age-ravaged hand through a bowl of mist and dew, collected in times past. Sad, wise eyes stared into the container as sights and sounds swirled, now clarifying into a solitary moment of time, now fading in a cacophonic rainbow whirl.

His actions were not mere idleness. He was searching for memories to come. Dungeon Master was taxed with containing all living forms in the Realm, guiding and shaping their paths. Recently, he found a new force growing which could unbalance, even neutralize his vast control over the ever-unsteady powers around him. In the scrying bowl was every scene to every event that had ever been or would ever be... and one could obtain vast knowledge if one knew how to view it properly.

Dungeon Master shifted on his cushions and shook his head as he plucked first one image than another from the mists. It was no easy answer, he feared. A being of great evil was shaping and every solution pointed at a handful of young children. Was he truly prepared to thrust these youths into a world of chaos and horror? The decision could lead to the quick annihilation of a few lives followed by the destruction of the world, or it could lead to rebirth and renewal. In that decision lay the destiny of the Realm and all its peoples.

Strength was to be found. Beauty could once more flourish, with insight and careful guidance. It would last but a little while, however. War was inevitable, life the brief glimpse of hope between each era's night. It was a cycle older than time, for time was a part of that very circle of creation and destruction. For the answers, Dungeon Master would have to see more.

So he turned back to his scrying bowl to watch the future unfold before making his decision.

Continued in Chapter One: One By One  



	2. One By One

Title: One By One

Author: Sam  
Series: Say it With Music 1 of ?

Rating: PG: Angst, lots of it; mild swearing, not so much of it  
Pairing: Hints of Hank and Sheila

Summary: The kids get home, all six... then something happens.

Song Note: Based on the song _No One But You_ by Queen, from Queen 3+ Album. THis is the song, in fact, that is sung at the end (though I was not permitted to add the lyrics for you). I have the lyrics available if requested.

Feedback: Feedback: Please? I love comments.

-----

Home.

They had finally made it home. It had been glorious, too. One moment, standing in front of the portal tired and hopeful, the next, sitting in a battered old roller coaster car, coming out into the summer sunshine and the infectious laughter of the crowds. Shock was the first feeling, brief disbelief... then elation bubbled up as no gut-wrenching teleport, rampaging enemy, or dissolving illusion took them back to the Realm.

Eric was the first to yelp in joy. He reached forward and gripped Hank's shoulders, half kneading, half shaking the other teen in triumph. Diana laughed and ruffled the Ranger's blond hair as he continued to sit in shock. Bobby's whoops of glee were what broke through, and the leader of the small group slowly smiled. He looked around as Sheila hugged one arm and Presto reached over to hug Diana, knocking into Hank's free arm instead.

"You did it, Hank... we're back!"

He wasn't sure who said it. It could have been any one of them; it was what he felt, himself. Hank turned and nodded, laughing, grinning foolishly, hugging back. Bobby scrambled from the old metal vehicle as the others took their time in leisurely stretching, enjoying the chance to take their time and not feel threatened. Eric laughed and spun around arms extended.

The attendant rolled his eyes as the group emerged, but let them alone. Most kids who came through this lemon groaned and complained. If this group wanted to pretend they'd been through some wild adventure, let them. It sure beat the typical reaction. Then he blinked at the six and rolled his eyes. Typical... fanatics. A bunch of weirdoes!

What the attendant had noticed soon became very apparent to the others due immediately to whistles and catcalls. Frowning, Eric whirled around to see some of the kids from school laughing and whispering. He turned back and tilted his head, trying to see what had set the dolts off. He couldn't spot what was wrong, but the next wolf whistle let him realize as his eyes fell onto Diana's rather shapely form... still in that furry bikini-like outfit from the Realm!

"Great... just great! That old midgit didn't give us our clothes back!" The dark-haired teen glared at Hank as if it were the older boy's fault. At the start of some more lewd and insulting comments, Eric spun around and called out "I'll sue for harassment if you don't get a life and leave us alone!"

Bobby giggled. He couldn't resist. After all, that was such a typical, old-times Eric comment. It just sounded odd after all they'd been through, all they'd grown while in the Realm. Sheila, on the other hand, didn't even smile. She pushed against Hank's side, as if terrified of the other teens. Her gray eyes were wide and her breath coming in short, near-pants. It was obvious that after three or so years in a world of dragons and magic, their own world had become unfamiliar and dangerous in the eyes of the girl.

Hank placed a hand over Sheila's and nodded in encouragement to her. He noticed that they were younger again, but determined to puzzle it through later. Instead, he wanted to get his friends out of there. "Come on, my house is nearby. Let's go get something else on." He gave another smile to Sheila, then turned to instinctively check on the others, and stopped stock-still. "Presto... you still have your hat..." His voice was soft, trying not to be overheard, surprised that they actually still had their weapons.

Presto flushed a bit, feeling awkward after all the rude comments they'd just gotten. He nodded and took it off, wishing he wasn't still in the robes. He felt like a total geek... more than ever before. The redhead looked around and cringed at the laughing faces of the crowds. "Let's go, Hank," his voice broke and he wanted to crawl into a hole. He'd just gotten used to the changing tones, but now it looked like he'd go through it all over again.

Diana took charge then and grabbed the nearest arm, Eric's, leading him towards the Amusement Park exit. She ignored the stares and low comments, assured by the sounds behind her that the others were following. A sudden bleating startled her into dropping Eric's arm and spinning around.

"Uni!" Bobby whirled away from Sheila and ran back towards the ride. The attendant looked angry as anything and glared menacingly at the nine-year-old. "Get your hands off her!" He raised his club, without thinking, as he saw the man pulling Uni roughly from the seat.

"No, Bobby!" Sheila bolted after him, and Hank turned to run back, too.

Eric shook his head, running back as well, no longer able to match Diana's long stride with his younger, less athletic body. "Great... just great. Why'd that bozo send her along? I thought she belonged in the Realm."

Presto merely shook his head, trying not to trip over his robes, marveling subconsciously at how different three years in the Realm had made them, now that he was once again stuck in the body of a thin thirteen-year-old. He skidded to a halt, bumping into Eric and sending them both sprawling in a terrible crashing of armor, shield, and angry retorts.

Outright laughter met this action, and Eric flushed bright red, turning a glare on Presto and changing his invective to Presto rather than Uni. The younger boy hung his head and actually let his friend vent. It was easier, he'd learned, most often to just ignore Eric's whining, but in this case... Eric was right. Presto had been a total and absolute clutz.

Hank managed to fling himself ahead of Bobby as Sheila and Diana threw themselves at the child to hold him and his weapon. The pure white equine in the attendant's arms struggled free, landing in a graceless sprawl on the metal walkway. The man shook his head and glared at Hank, who had reached over to check the baby animal. "Leave your damned horse at home next time, kid! I can have you kicked out of the park for that! I don't wanna see any of you on this ride again! Get out of here!" Then the man made a shooing gesture which nearly knocked Hank in the head as he straightened up.

The blond scooped up the small, white figure and nodded, backing off without comment. He turned and joined the others, bending so Bobby could do his own check on his best friend. The younger blond frowned worriedly. "What happened to Uni? Where's her horn?"

Someone behind them snickered.

Hank shook his head, gazing intently at the child and speaking a bit loudly. "Must've fallen off during the ride. Maybe costumes were a bit much for opening day. C'mon, let's go home." He could see Bobby's protest forming and shut the boy up by handing over the former unicorn. The former Ranger guided his band of oddly dressed teens, and kid, out of the openly laughing crowds and out of the park.

-----

Looking down, uncomfortable in the stiff clothes, he shook away the memories. He'd been overcome with memories quite a bit in the last few days, actually. Sometimes they seemed to take over, and he could only see and hear the past, unaware of what was happening in the present. Most times the past was lingering so near the surface it barely took anything to trigger an onrush of thoughts and feelings.

Reaching up, he tried to loosen the tie he now wore. He'd always hated ties and rarely wore them. Sure, they looked good, but they always seemed to choke.

Like now.

Especially now.

With a sigh, hands dropping ineffectually to his sides, the teen turned to once more look over the strangely quite room. No talking, no crying, not even rustling feet or apologetic coughing. It was eerie. As if he'd suddenly gone deaf. He didn't like that feeling one bit. But, there was only his family in the room at the moment... his family and the family of... of...

With a forceful shake of his head, unaware and uncaring if anyone saw and interpreted it wrong, he pushed back that thought. He wasn't ready... would never be ready... to accept this. After all they'd gone through. After every close call and near miss, how could it come to this? How could this happen?

He'd protected the others time and again. Of course, they had protected each other. True, some had done more protecting than others, but they'd each jumped in when needed... when the chips were down. But to not be able to help this time: it was so... final.

-----

A week of normalcy had Presto wanting to scream. He was back home with real food, bathrooms, beds, and cars. Television and video games and bathrooms... oh, he'd already listed bathrooms. Well, they were really important, so they could be listed twice. But, here he was, back in his room, with his family, and his stuff, and he wanted to tear his red hair out by the roots and run screaming down the hall to his Mom's room. He wanted to throw himself on the floor next to her bed and beg to be sent to some sort of summer camp or even military boarding school.

He was bored.

Yeah, he was safe, but normal was... boring. No monsters, no hunger, no running around for food or safety... just bathrooms and boredom. He almost wanted to give up the bathrooms, no matter how important they were, to get some activity going. He wanted to scream.

Then, as he was throwing sharpened pencils at his dartboard, his mother had taken his darts away when he'd shown up three hours late for dinner last week after returning from the Realm, a sudden inspiration hit.

An epiphany.

An idea so good, he couldn't believe he had thought of it... or hadn't thought of it sooner.

He'd call the others and they could get together and hang out. Yeah, they could do something together, talk or even exercise or something. He'd be active and not bored. He'd be with his friends, too. Even if only a week had passed, he really missed the people he'd been with day in and day out for near three years of his young life... even if those three years seemed to have disappeared like a dream.

Flipping over on his thin stomach, the former Magician grinned and reached for his phone, then stopped. Duh. He was grounded. That was why he hadn't been hanging out with them all week. His darts weren't the only thing his Mom had banned. She'd banned his magic, too, as well as the phone. The magic hadn't been a problem for all of two hours. Then he'd about gone insane with curiosity as to whether that hat still worked. Then he'd been told to finish his homework.

That was all he'd been doing all week in fact: homework. His mother had called the teachers and asked that he be given extra homework because she felt he was falling behind. He wasn't falling behind. He was still far ahead of his own age group. It's why he'd skipped third grade and then skipped eighth grade. It was why he was in class with the fifteen and sixteen-year-olds instead of the otehr thirteen-year-olds. He wasn't falling behind; she just wanted him to stay away from the friends who'd brought him home hours later than he was supposed to walk in.

But they'd been caught up talking at Hank's. His Dad had been cool about these strange kids coming over dressed like out of King Arthur or something. He'd even jokingly offered Eric a beer, which the teen had regally turned down. He'd flirted with both Diana and Sheila, being one of those people who didn't seem to see color or such things, and made them giggle and blush. Heck, he'd even called Bobby _sport_ and let him use a bandage to tend to a scrape Uni had gotten in the coaster car. Hank's dad was really cool. Made sense, though, since Hank was so down-to-earth, too.

Uni was an odd sort. She wasn't a unicorn, it seemed. No horn at all. Her normally fiery mane and tail were a deep auburn now, instead. Seemed like Dungeon Master had determined that she could go back to Earth with them, but as a miniature horse rather than a mythical unicorn. That hadn't bothered Bobby in the least, though. What had bothered him was his parents' reaction to his best friend.

They'd walked the siblings home, as a group, with Diana's house next on the list. When they got inside, Bobby's mother had gone through the roof at the thought that her son was trying to adopt a horse, no matter how small. She put her foot down, too. No horse... no pets whatsoever, in fact. Apparently, she was a nice woman unless someone tried to bring a pet into her house, then she went bonkers. Bobby had ranted, cried, and even tried to reason with her. She wouldn't relent.

The problem had been solved by Eric. He had enough money and space for a herd of horses. He'd take Uni home with him and Bobby could visit whenever he wanted. No one was quite happy with the idea, but it was the best solution. After all, Uni would need lots of space and care, even if her intelligence was above the normal horse one met. Eric probably had regretted his altruism instantly, too, but was too prideful to back down from his offer. Presto would have loved to see how Eric handled living with the once-unicorn he despised so much.

Presto would like to see any of his friends, in fact. Boredom was just a way of saying lonely, actually. And Presto was lonely now that a week of no Young Ones had passed. He wanted to beg his mother to lift the ban, but she would just smile and intone that the punishment would work best if he felt loss from it. She was a good Mom, as Moms went, but sometimes he wished she was a lenient one.

The phone rang and with a grimace Presto turned to watch it. He couldn't reach for it. At the first ring his mother's ears would have perked. She'd be waiting to see if he disobeyed. It rang a third time before the answering machine got it.

"Hey, Presto. Haven't seen you in awhile. Can you ask your Mom to let you help me with something? You're the one with the brains, after all." A click and Eric's voice cut off as he hung up.

With another sigh, Presto rolled off the bed to go ask, futility warring with hope of relent. He was stunned when his mother smiled and agreed, as he'd been such a good boy the past week. She even lifted his sentence. He was a free man! Secretly, he thought she ended the punishment because she wanted to encourage his hanging around with Eric. She liked Eric's father... not romantically. Ick! She liked him for a neighbor because he was so classy. She felt it made her seem classier. His Mom was a good mother but a snob.

Running over to Eric's huge house, skirting through the decorative hedge and skipping the enormously long driveway, the boy grinned and waved, catching sight of a small white form. "Hey... I'm here! Mom said I could come over!" He tripped, going head over heels into a roll and landing in a bruised heap at the base of a beautiful old tree.

Eric laughed and trotted over, Uni at his heels like a well-trained pup. Rather large pup, actually. He continued to laugh as he thrust out a hand to help his younger friend up. "Hey, Presto, nice entrance. What's the encore?"

A sick grin and chuckle escaped the embarrassed boy, but he knew Eric wasn't being malicious. He'd known Eric long enough to differentiate cruel from Eric's weird sense of humor. True, they'd been somehow de-aged when they came back, so most people didn't understand why two neighbor boys who merely got together for tutoring could now be such close friends, but neither boy explained, either. "Well, I was thinking if you had a hill and a pond, I'd roll from the pond up the hill..."

That stopped Eric for a moment, then the former Cavalier guffawed loudly, slapping Presto on the back and grinning widely. "Roll up a hill? From you, I'd believe it. The others are on the veranda. Let's go." He started in the direction of what Presto had thought was an enormous back porch. Wow, a veranda? Who spoke like that anymore? Obviously, Eric did. Uni was at the teen's heels, still.

When Presto reached the veranda, he climbed the wide marble steps and sighed at the beautiful sight. The grounds stretched out before him in green glory. Yeah, he'd lived next door all his life, but Eric had always met him at the library or something for tutoring, he tutored Eric, not the other way around. But here he was, invited to this old mansion for the first time, as a guest no less. Finally, he turned and grinned at the others, noting Bobby and Sheila weren't there.

Hank and Diana were, though. Both were sitting in beautifully carved wooden lounge chairs, what Presto would have called deck chairs at any other house. They were smiling at him, and it was almost a shock to see them dressed in normal street clothes and not carrying their weapons. True, he was in jeans and a T-shirt, and his hat was secreted away in his underwear drawer, but it was still odd to see them dressed normally. In fact, Eric was in nice slacks and a polo shirt, but somehow, even after seeing him in armor for so long, it seemed natural to see Eric dressed that way. Diana was in slacks and a nice shirt with a hair-band in her curls; Hank was in jeans and a T-shirt like Presto. The redhead was glad he wasn't the only one dressed so casually in this mansion.

As he slid onto a lounge chair Eric handed the teen a drink. It smelled like lemonade, so Presto drank it, and enjoyed every drop. His Mom made lousy lemonade.

Bobby's voice called over, followed by an excited bleat from Uni. The small group watched fondly as the two youngsters, one human, one equine, ran towards each other in greeting. They came together in a crash, sprawling on the lawn and laughing, but neither seemed disturbed by that. Sheila, dressed in a nice skirt set, shook her head and called, "Bobby! You'll rip your slacks!" Yup, Bobby was in slacks and a polo shirt, like Eric. Presto had to look at Hank again to reassure himself that he still wasn't the only one in jeans.

Then the sextet, joined by a rambunctious Uni, started laughing and talking with one another. Eric took them on a tour of his home, which gave Presto plenty of the exercise he thought he'd been craving. Stories and reminiscing and food and good times passed quickly for the odd group of fast friends, while Eric's father watched from a window frowning softly and wondering how Eric, who'd had no friends a week ago, was so relaxed and happy with this group of kids. Odd what one day at an Amusement Park might do to a moody, stuck up teenager. He couldn't understand it, but he would accept it. It was good to see his son happy for once.

Others were coming in now. Now there were tears, shuffling feet, apologetic coughs, whispered comments. Now there were people walking around as if afraid to wake someone up. Bitterly, he frowned and thought "Like you can wake the dead." As soon as the thought entered his mind, he winced and tried to shy away from it. But it was too late. He'd let it in; now he'd have to deal with it.

Dead.

With a fierce frown, determined that he wouldn't cry... at least not yet, the teen reached again for the uncomfortable tie and tried to adjust it. He looked around at those who'd come in. Sure, most of these people didn't know the deceased. The deceased... such a sterile, cold term... but so much easier than forcing himself to think of just which person lie inside that coffin on the other side of the velvet draped room.

Again, he looked around at the people shuffling past the coffin. They didn't look in. A sure sign they hadn't really cared. They were there because the school had decided to put on this elaborate display on behalf of one of its students and the loss that was experienced. It was so messed up. What did the school care? One more student to push out of sight and ignore. One more forgotten face in the crowd. Just a big display of school spirit and togetherness to make the people think the school's raising the budget and taxes again was okay. That's all this wake was... a way for the school to cash in on the pain and loss.

Bitterly, the teen turned from the sight of all those people avoiding looking into the coffin. He still hadn't gone to look, knowing he would have to stay strong... be calm... be supportive. After all, people tended to expect that of him now. There was a time that no one would have thought he'd do something worthwhile... but that was so long ago, and it felt like he could barely recall the time. People expected him to take charge, to be strong, to be neutral and... to not be needy or sad or crying. He almost wanted to go back to being the kid he used to be... so long ago...

So long ago...

Shaking his head, he glanced around to see if anyone familiar was there... besides his family... besides the family of the deceased. Reaching for that damned tie again, he tugged harder until he heard a satisfying ripping. Sure, he'd regret that later, but at the moment it seemed a stupid thing to worry about. A ripped piece of cloth as compared to a dead friend. He shook his head, pushing that thought back harshly, not ready yet to go from _the deceased_ to _dead friend_.

-----

With a laugh, Sheila tugged on Hank's arm. "Come on, Hank. It's over there, across the street. In that window. I want you to see. It's gorgeous!"

Bobby rolled his eyes and looked at Presto, sure the other boy would understand, maybe. "Since Mom said she could get a class ring, that's all she's been talking about! You'd think a junior'd never had a class ring before!"

Presto laughed and shrugged, happy and enjoying himself. If anyone had asked two months ago if he'd be out shopping with a gang of friends, he'd have thought they were setting him up for 'Candid Camera' or something. But here he was, two months after the Realm, and he was out shopping for a class ring with Sheila and the others.

Uni had been left back at Eric's because storeowners didn't like having her come in. She'd settled nicely at the mansion, and Eric seemed to enjoy having her around. Of course, with Bobby coming over daily, things seemed to be okay for the unicorn, too.

Now, the six kids were enjoying a brisk autumn-feeling day, even though it was still the end of summer. They would be going back to school in a couple of days. Presto was looking forward to being a junior with Sheila and Eric. Diana and Hank were seniors this year. It would be great, because he truly had friends. He knew this because Eric had been sticking up for him in town now, as had the others. It was a glorious feeling, and somehow Presto hadn't felt he needed to do stupid magic tricks to get approval anymore. He was accepted for who he was by these five kids, and that was enough for him.

As the teens started crossing the wet pavement, Hank turned his face to smile down at Sheila. She'd just agreed to become his girlfriend. It was wonderful, being home and... well, being happy. Sure he was happy before at home, but now he was happier. Maybe because he wasn't just a school jock... he was a part of a group. Senior year looked like it'd be the best ever. And he didn't need to take charge and lead these kids out of danger anymore. Letting Sheila tug his arm, Hank started asking what color the stone was.

Then a squeal of tires. Then a sickening thud. Then the pain.

Bobby screamed as the couple in front went down under the speeding truck. Diana jumped then sprinted towards the store behind them, intent on calling 9-1-1. Eric grabbed Bobby before he could run over, spinning the kid around and burying the shocked boy's face in his chest, not letting him see any more than he already had. Presto felt sick and stumbled.

The lights of the ambulance, the sirens, the milling crowd, the questions and statements... everything blurred together for the four kids. Bobby's parents came to take him away, to soothe him as they looked for hope from the people in charge of the accident scene. Hank's father showed up, but stayed on the sidewalk, a look of shocked disbelief on his normally jovial face. The single father seemed stunned that his kid might have been involved in something like this.

Then one of the pair was sitting up without help. Words came next and questions and hugs and tears of relief and grief. The truck had passed over, the teen between the tires. Only one was sitting up, though. The other was being rushed into an ambulance and driven away at the safest fastest speed available, having taken the brunt of the accident. The remaining teen was also guided away, but everyone knew that nothing further would happen to that one. The other kids, and their families, showed up at the emergency room to support their children's friend.

The news came later that night, about one in the morning. There was nothing more they could do. It was better this way. The injuries had been so severe. I'm sorry.

-----

Sorry.

What a useless word. It didn't take away the pain. It didn't heal the broken back, the punctured lungs, the dead teenager. A speeding truck with a half asleep driver and one of the six were no more. After three years of hell, they had all come home... to have one die within two months.

He looked around to the front of the room again.

Everyone was there now. The funeral home had opened up three rooms, moving walls and barriers to accommodate the large school crowd. There were staff, students, parents... everyone who could squeeze their way in. A velvet curtain had been drawn across the front of the room, blocking the sight of the coffin from the crowd now. They had already had their shot at making their peace with the dead. Now it was family and close friends.

Moving towards the front of the room, he absently tossed his tie on a chair, not caring if he missed it later. It wasn't important after all. It was just a stupid tie. The teen made his way behind the curtain, ignoring the soft buzz of the school crowd. He was one of the special friends. One of the six. And he had every right to be back there with the coffin now that everyone else had passed it by and tried not to look inside.

He knew he couldn't look in quite yet. To see the body of his close friend would make it final... over. He didn't want it to be over. Besides, he'd start crying, and then he wouldn't be able to say anything.

And he'd been asked to give a eulogy, odd as it seemed.

Avoiding the coffin, the teen walked to the front of the smaller, private area. He knew those in the next room would hear him, but that didn't matter. It had been decided that this would be the best way to grieve. That the special six families would be together and say their peace, and the others would merely listen in and not get to gawk at them.

Looking up, he picked out each of the four others. The survivors. Five of them, including him. Had he been able to stop this? Had he been able to protect the group? He'd done it before, without even thinking... but this time... this time it wasn't a rampaging Orc or an evil dragon. This time it had been a careless truck driver who'd stepped in. And that was something he hadn't dealt with in the Realm. It was enough to make him somehow wish they'd never come home after all.

Then, without introduction, he started singing. It was a song he'd heard when he got home, but hadn't really thought about. He'd been asked to speak, but no words had come... and so, late last night, he'd determined to just pass on this song. It said everything he could ever hope to say about... about his friend.

Finally, amid the tears of his friends, he turned to face the teen in the coffin, looking so peaceful, like it was sleep, not death, which was claiming the other kid. Slowly, feeling the tears well up and this time letting them, Eric leaned over and whispered, "Goodnight, Hank."

Continued in Chapter Two: Shattered Dreams  



	3. Shattered Dreams

Title: Shattered Dreams

Author: Sam  
Series: Say it With Music 2 of ?

Rating: PG-13: Much Angst  
Character: Eric

Summary: Eric's finally home and living the life he's always wanted... isn't he?

Note: these are not linear chapters, but skip around, pretty much answering many versions of the question: What If?

Song Note: Inspired by the song _Someone Else's Dream_ by Michael Ball and Brian Kennedy, performed at Michael Ball's _Royal Albert Hall Celebration Concert_ in England. I have the lyrics if requested.

Feedback: Feedback: Please? I love comments.

-----

"And at three forty-five the president of Paxton will be waiting in the lobby."

"Of course, father." Eric methodically manipulated the cloth of his silk tie, forming a perfect knot, as had been drilled into him before he could properly appreciate the subtleties of sharp dressing. He stepped back, barely glancing over his reflection, knowing he'd see calm, cool perfection, as always. It was, after all, expected of Eric Montgomery, son and future heir to the founder of the Montgomery estates and businesses. Turning, the tall, dark-haired young man lifted an eyebrow at his secretary.

The woman shifted slightly, still not used to having her boss's son present at these functions. It wasn't long ago the boy was failing algebra and whining about not enough allowance. She cleared her throat and continued with the reading of the day's schedule, no bothered that the younger man kept commenting as if his father were reading the words, not the elder Montgomery's secretary of twenty years. It was expected of young Eric not to acknowledge that there were underlings all around him, after all. He could easily be cultivated into as big a snob as his father.

Finally, the itinerary exhausted, the pair of dark-haired males turned to leave the oak-paneled study. To the untrained eye, they were identical, Eric a replica of his stern, powerful father. But, to those who knew the pair as intimately as Janice Geronti, the secretary, did, there were differences beginning to appear. Oh, true, a year ago, even she couldn't have seen anything to separate the pair. But, that had been a year ago.

Then, Eric had run away from home for three months.

No one had figured out just why the sixteen-year-old had done it. Still, to this day, even his father couldn't get Eric to explain where he'd been or even what had made him come back exhausted and with such tired old eyes. Of course, Eric's father, who could have easily, without argument from the masses, claimed to know the teen best, didn't notice those haunted eyes... but Janice had. Now, the seventeen-year-old walked with a gate reminiscent of a caged tiger. He seemed more certain of himself, more powerful... as if he'd discovered the greatness within and barely kept it leashed. In those three months something momentous had happened to the boy to make him a man.

The biggest difference happened just as Eric was about to slip into the hall behind the self-made millionaire. He turned and winked at Janice. He smiled. The teen disappeared before the secretary could respond, as he always did these days, but still she couldn't help smile in return. Four months ago, the boy had run away. One month ago, he'd returned, on the day of his seventeenth birthday. And now... he was more of a man than his father was.

Eric naturally didn't know her thoughts, too busy keeping up with his successful father to look back.

Bored to death. That's what Eric was. He'd come home from the Realm a month ago and been bored ever since. That day had been sheer... exhaustion. His seventeenth birthday, which he'd already celebrated in the Realm three years previously, had been spent filling out police reports about his three-month disappearance. That had probably been the most exciting day he'd had since returning to Earth, and no one could possibly ever understand that.

After all, whom could he tell? Once they'd returned, the small group of six children had realized immediately that they were again the young teens that had been ripped from their world to save another. Three years in the Realm had taken three months at home. The children had been questions, poked, prodded, scolded, punished, and thrown into counseling. For Eric the realization had been immediate that he could never, ever tell a living soul about his time in the Realm. He'd be ripped out of counseling and thrown into an asylum so quick, it'd make Uni's teleportation spell look like a snail's pace.

Refusing to show any weakness by shifting in the stiff chair, Eric continued to stare blankly between Mr. Paxton's eyes. It was a trick he'd picked up in algebra, actually. Stare at the teacher between the eyes and he thought you were paying attention. Then you could daydream your life away, and if anyone asked you questions, you could easily reword it and throw it right back... causing them to answer it for you. Yeah, his dad's game of big business wasn't too hard once you figured out the secret of manipulation.

The meeting was identical to every meeting Eric had attended since his return. He'd get dressed a spiffy as his father, follow the man around like a well-trained pooch, and sit stiff and obedient while the _adults_ hashed out the details of business merges he never cared the slightest about. When he'd first gotten home, he'd tried to listen and participate, but had gotten a firm dressing down after the very first meeting. He was basically there to impress the clients, not show off and act silly. Thus, Eric spent the meetings daydreaming about life in the Realm.

If anyone had ever asked him if he'd miss that god-forsaken place, he'd have laughed in his face and called the funny farm for free delivery. But now, he found he truly did wish he could go back there... for a little while... for just a day... In the Realm, after all, the others actually listened to him, if he felt like spouting anything important. If he felt like joining in and trying to help, they welcomed the efforts. He wasn't told to shut up and go sit at the kiddy table for trying to be a grown up.

An audio trigger sent Eric gracefully to his feet. He'd learned by the end of the month what words would mean the end of a meeting. Smiling in that same cold manner his father always used, Eric dutifully shook hands with the Paxton man and his associate. They commented on how much like his father he was, how truly impressive he was... how he would follow in his father's well-worn footsteps and become another _Montgomery Millionaire_ running the lives of thousands of people in hundreds of companies he didn't even care to know the names of. Eric merely smiled and let them think he was delighted and proud to be compared to such a man.

There had been a time, before the Realm, when Eric Montgomery had wanted to be just like his father. The man was rich, powerful, and sought after. Everyone catered to the senior Montgomery's every whim, and the man took it as his due. Eric had wanted that... that petting and cosseting and admiration and respect. That had been before the Realm, though, before he'd risked his life as an equal part of a team of six human children trying to save a world. That was before he'd found out that his father's money and influence meant diddly-squat when one was faced with a party of enraged Orcs bent on tearing one limb from limb. That was before he'd come home to find out just what his father was really like.

With the same cold smile he'd donned on Paxton, Eric turned to his father. "That went well." He really had no idea how it went, but his father was still smiling even after the other man was gone, and that always meant a good deal for the Montgomery business.

"Yes." That was it. A one word, sterile affirmative. No explanation of how it would help their business, no tearing apart the subtleties of the meeting and negotiations, not even an acknowledgement that it was the man's one and only child who'd been with him there. Just the same response his secretary would get when asking if he wanted coffee with lunch.

Eric ruthlessly held back the sigh of disappointment he felt. What had he expected? Dress nice and attend a few meetings and he'd earn his father's love? The man didn't know how to love; it had been drilled out of him at age five, just as it had Eric. Eric, however, had been saved. Before the tiny flicker of emotion had completely withered, five other people had stoked it back to life.

Five other people he had been permitted to see since his seventeeth birthday.

"Doctor Phillips is waiting to see you, Sir." The secretary stepped forward, a thick engagement book in her thin arms. She gave him a functional smile, one reserved for business superiors, and stepped back once more.

The teen again repressed his emotions. He nodded to Janice, this time not even glancing in her direction. His father would see, and he'd get another lecture about encouraging relationships with the underlings. How could thanking someone be encouraging relationships, Eric still hadn't figured out. All he knew was that Janice had nearly been fired that day; Eric had never again let his father see him show anything near humanity to the staff again.

It was barely five minutes later when Eric walked into the private office, which had been set aside for him. His father naturally never assigned him any work or meetings that required a private office... except the daily sessions with Doctor Phillips, private counselor specializing in rich runaways. That's what Eric had been delegated to, a group of kids who roamed because they were rebelling against their rich, powerful parents.

Doctor Phillips was a balding man in his late fifties. He had a no-nonsense air about him and presented the perfect stereotypical picture of a professional therapist. He was dedicated to his job... or at least the money it raked in... and so took his work seriously. The man even had the gall to make Eric lie down on the leather couch he'd ordered put in the office for their meetings. It was over-dramatic in Eric's estimation and certainly never helped him relax and open up to the twit his father had hired.

"Hello, Erica."

Eric gritted his teeth. His name was not Erica, and the man knew it. But, unfortunately, in a fit of absurd humor, when they had met and the man had asked him how to spell his name, Eric had responded "E-R-I-C-A, my father wanted a girl, don't you know." Ever since, the man had insisted on calling him Erica in private, thankfully using the title Young Montgomery in public settings. The seventeen-year-old was heartily convinced that Doctor Phillips was doing this to get Eric to whine to his father, thus proving the theory that he was a bored teen with no direction and too much pampering. Eric refused to give the counselor that kind of satisfaction.

"Good afternoon, Doctor." Eric got a small, very petty, satisfaction by not granting the man a name in any setting. He had determined to act as if the man was merely a tool or servant, and that the doctor's initial "Call me Phillips, if you'd like," had never been uttered. As always, the doctor's annoyance of this treatment flash through his green eyes, but quickly was hidden once more. The flash was enough every time, and Eric felt a little better.

"We are going to try a new technique today, Erica." There was a ring of smugness in the doctor's tone. These meetings had long since ceased being therapy sessions, instead becoming a battle of wills to see just who would crumble and go running to the elder Montgomery first. The doctor was just as determined as his patient to come out the victor. "We will try a little technique I invented, called _Inner-self Gazing_."

Eric turned an extremely puppyish, bright smile on the quack. "Oh, could we, please? I'd oh-so-love to try out one of your special therapies, Doctor." The false happy tones were liberally mixed with equally false awe. It grated on the man's nerves every time Eric so obviously acted like an eager kid who respected this powerful clever man... especially as in the second session Eric had told Doctor Phillips to his face what a stupid little nobody he was.

The therapist shifted in his comfortable leather chair, having claimed the one behind Eric's desk. He grinned like a shark about to strike and nodded, choosing, once more, to ignore Eric's obvious disrespect. "Well, it involves looking into a mirror and telling me what you see."

Oh... this was too easy. Eric stood and walked over to the gilded mirror over the side-table. It had been put there to look nice, as Eric was expected never to need touching up between meetings. The teen gazed into the mirror and tilted his head, letting his brown eyes go wide as if utterly shocked. "Oh! I see... a spoiled rich brat who has his head so far up his backside he'll never see the light of day! Golly gee! This is the bestest therapy session ever, Doctor. I feel all better now." He turned, stalked to his seat, and let himself sink onto the uncomfortable couch once more.

Busily nodding, the doctor made no move to interfere with Eric's sarcastic performance. On the desk, apparently placed there after Eric had gotten up, was a small tape-recorder, capturing every word the teen said for later review. Eric privately felt the recording wasn't for medical reasons; his father probably confiscated the tapes to listen to later. Eric was careful never to say anything derogatory during these stupid meetings.

"Well, I am glad you have started seeing some sense, Erica. It is a very important first step in full recovery to acknowledge the trials one faces. Yes, this is going along very nicely."

Eric rolled his eyes then closed them, settled back into the leather, and folded his hands over his lean abdomen. That was the same bull the man spouted every session, probably for his father's listening benefit. They never got past this dance of snide pecking. They never got to what Eric needed to discuss. But then again, Eric didn't trust the man to handle it like a real professional. He'd most likely just claim Eric was making up stories for his father's attention... something Eric had given up when he was eight.

Now came the next move. This was almost a pre-arranged dialogue, in fact. The barely hostile greetings, followed by the over-solicitous insults, to be concluded with Eric coming up with the wildest lie he could imagine and getting a boring lecture by the doctor about responsibility and self-worth. Eric was looking forward to the day when this man quit out of annoyance.

As the teen lay there quietly, trying to come up with a good story he hadn't used yet, the doctor silently sat and watched. That wasn't anything new. The man was paid by the hour and was paid well enough not to need to rush off to another patient. They could sit like this for three days and the doctor would merely let that stupid tape record empty air.

Finally, an idea came to Eric. He smiled slightly and figured, "Why not. What have I got to lose?" He'd do it. He'd tell this guy the truth about those three months. Might as well. He wouldn't be believed anyway, and it would be just one more day of lectures and boredom after this, so it wasn't as if the Earth would come to a standstill.

He started talking. The boy began with the roller coaster and continued all the way until the end, when the group had found themselves standing back in their own world. It had taken well until after dark for Eric to finish his tale. He'd missed dinner as well as his curfew. He'd talked longer than all of the other sessions put together. Normally his stories lasted all of ten minutes, tops. This time, however, he'd let himself get swept up in the telling. He'd taken about seven hours to tell the bare basics of three years in the Realm.

A click shocked Eric into opening his eyes. He twisted his head around to look at the balding little man. The doctor's hand was on the tape-recorder, the machine stopped now that Eric was done. The pair stared at each other for a long time as Eric tried to shake off the relief of the telling, to regain his hatred and sulleness towards his father and this man he'd hired.

"Well, Eric. I can see you've been through quite a lot."

Eric blinked, then blinked again. Had that man just called him by his real name? Had that tone really been understanding and sorrowful... not supercilious and demeaning? The teen and the adult stared at each other for another long moment, until finally Eric licked his lips and hesitantly whispered, "You believe me? You... don't think I'm crazy?"

Doctor Phillips stood up and started putting his stuff away into a tooled-leather briefcase. He worked quickly, efficiently, the same as always. But something about him struck Eric as different. What could it be? With a soft snap, the little man closed his bag and straightened up, looking Eric directly in the eye.

"You've taken the first step to become your own man, Eric." He moved quickly towards the office door, leaving a puzzled teenager on the leather sofa. As he stepped into the hall, he paused long enough to say "It is about time you opened up to yourself. That's the most important thing any of us can do... look at one's self and recognize what one is really like... how we came here, where we're going. You have made that step."

Eric shot off of the couch in a heartbeat, feeling a sudden urge to keep the normally annoying man in the room. For once the doctor had sounded sincere... like he really could help. "But what about all that crazy stuff I just told you? I mean, teleporting roller coasters? Come on!"

An enigmatic smile flitted across Doctor Phillips face and he moved completely into the hall. He started letting the door drift shut. As Eric's heart sank, the faint voice of the little doctor floated back. "I believe every word of it; but do you, Young One?"

"Young... one?" Eric gasped and darted from the room. "Hey! Doctor Phillips!" He looked around, but there was no sign of the counselor... not even a departing elevator. Eric shook his head in wonder... and disbelief then started on his way home to the Montgomery Mansion.

When the teen got inside, he found his father in a towering rage. The man was livid that he'd stayed out so long, and no explanation about a very long session with his therapist was accepted. His father was apparently convinced he'd gone out to visit the rest of the gang... strictly against the orders his father had laid down one month ago.

Their argument was loud, long, and hateful. Both parties shouted things they probably never should have, even if they had meant every word. Montgomery senior should never have called his son a useless, lazy, spoiled kid who'd never grow up and never amount to anything worth calling a Montgomery or that he wished Eric had died at birth. Eric should never have said he'd rather die than be a Montgomery or that he despised his father more with each passing day.

In his room, having escaped there mere moments before, Eric stood, trying to catch his breath. He was disheveled and exhausted, panting from his argument and subsequent run. Something, some tiny inborn hope he'd cherished all these years, had finally died. His father would never love him. He hadn't lied completely to Doctor Phillips that first day, after all; he'd been told by any number of people that his father had wanted a girl... that he'd been so disappointed at his only child being a male. Those people often either were horrified at their own admissions or went on, stumbling, trying to cover their mistake by exclaiming that Eric must surely have changed his father's mind and made him proud.

He hated his life.

Walked towards the dresser, Eric loosened his tie and tossed it on the floor, for the first time since he'd returned uncaring that a servant would have to clean up after him. He tossed the jacket after it, followed by his cufflinks. With a savage viciousness, the teen ripped off his shirt, though the sounds of buttons hitting the floor didn't even register. He tore his shoes, trousers, and socks off next, tossing them savagely in that now untidy corner. Then Eric turned towards the full-length mirror, studying the trim body, the good-looking features. Reaching up, he gently placed a hand against his reflection, the sadness and pain he felt mirrored in his eyes.

He really hated his life.

Continued in Chapter Three: Say Nothing  



	4. Say Nothing

Title: Say Nothing

Author: Sam  
Series: Say it With Music 03 of ?

Characters: Diana and Eric, as well as the rest of the gang

Rating: PG-13: Mild Language

Summary: A way to pass a cold night brings back memories of another night…

Setting: The Realm and Earth

Note: In celebration of the 20th Anniversary of Dungeons & Dragons Cartoon.

Song Note: Inspired by the song _When You Say Nothing At All_ by Boyzone from the album _By Request..._. I have the lyrics if requested.

Feedback: Feedback: Please? I love comments.

-----

The night air was cold and snow was falling steadily, blanketing the world in pristine white. Moonlight competed with star shine, blinding on the delicate white ground. Shivering in a cave, a fire built up against the weather, sat five teenagers, a child, and a baby unicorn. They had sought refuge from the cold and were trying their best to keep their spirits up with storytelling and song singing and generally playing stupid campfire games.

Bobby the Barbarian, lay curled in a shivering ball, stocky body looking tiny in his restless sleep. His head lay on the lap of his older sister and his arms were wound securely around the equally tired unicorn foal. Neither had lasted much past midnight.

The older red-haired girl, Sheila the Thief, was running a hand through her brother's blond hair, watching him with soft eyes. The Realm of Dungeons and Dragons had done wonders to bring the siblings closer together. Where once the pair had been a couple of normal, squabbling siblings, the Realm had brought out the protective instincts in both, as well as their desire to cling to their only remaining family.

Sitting next to the pretty teen, Hank the Ranger couldn't help a soft smile. His eyes watched every movement of Sheila's hand. However, used to keeping his private life private even from these closest of friends, the young man didn't reveal what her gestures might mean to him.

"Hey, what's…" Presto the Wizard's voice was tired and punctuated with small yawns and sighs, "taking so long. I'm not getting any younger, Eric. You gotta follow rules," the youngest of the teens felt his jaw pop with another huge yawn and shook his head to get his sleepy golden eyes to uncross. "You drew _song_ from the helmet and spun _Diana_ on the bottle, so sing something for Diana, like you're supposed to." His eyes were almost closed, however, and it was readily apparent that the Wizard would most likely fall asleep within a few minutes, even though his turn would be next.

Eric the Cavalier frowned, an idea forming. They were all just trying to keep awake, right? None of them would actually understand what he meant. No one, except… except one person. He turned to look at the Acrobat, clearing his throat softly, his emotions apparently as hidden as Hank's. He began to sing in a pleasant baritone.

Diana's eyes widened slightly and her smile slipped away. With a slight frown, she stared intently at the Cavalier, wondering why he'd chosen that particular song. How could he even think to? Did he even remember…

-----

The night had held a bit of chill, despite the clear late spring date. Stars by the thousands winked down on the nervous, excited teenagers dressed in formal wear. It was Senior Prom Night, and most were certain it was a night they'd never forget. There was at least one, though, whom wished it could be forgotten as soon as possible.

Diana Lawrence had been stood up.

Checking the delicate gold watch, a piece of show jewelry to go with her floor-length prom dress, she sighed and crossed her arms, no longer careful of the delicate lace trim on the bodice. It was an hour after the beginning of the Prom and her date was nowhere to be seen. She should have gone to the meet over in Springfield, but had told her coach that she couldn't be there. It had been the very first time, and the last she was damn sure, that she'd ever skipped out on a gymnastics event. That creep would pay tenfold for this!

Of course, it didn't help that she'd also gotten her hopes up after squashing the guilt for deserting her team. After all, as had been pointed out by many a friend, the Prom only came once in a lifetime… twice for a lucky junior like her… she should be happy to have such a magical memory to tuck away among all those blue ribbons and trophies.

Magic sucked right about then in Diana's way of thinking.

Yeah, give her the well-earned triumph of a routine finished to perfection: the hammering heart, the sweat and rapid breathing, the feeling like she might pass out and scream in joy and run and hide to treasure the moment all at once. She'd heard that love was like that, but so far the only thing love made her feel was anger beyond anything else. If love was being left on the porch in an expensive gown on Prom Night, love could go fly a kite.

With another glare down the road, the sixteen-year-old turned. She winced at the sound of tearing fabric. Her lace over-skirt had caught on one of her heels; she really should have gone with flats after all. Sliding down onto one knee, the high school girl fingered the torn lace. Things were just getting worse, weren't they? That jerk better hope he broke his leg before school Monday, or she'd be sure to break it for him!

Standing, graceful despite the unfamiliar clothing, Diana sighed and moved slowly towards the side door. She didn't want her parents to try to comfort her right then; that could wait until morning. It was humiliating just knowing that they'd never heard her date pull up for her, to confront them would make this entire fiasco more than one person could be reasonably expected to bear. She pulled her house key from the small purse tied to her wrist.

The sound of a car coming to a slow, purring stop in front of the Lawrence house froze the teen in her tracks. So, now the jerk shows? Diana warred with herself between relief and continued anger. He could have called to say he'd be late. Thoughtlessness was one of the things she really hated. However, he _had_ showed up, albeit late, hadn't he? Perhaps she should give him the benefit of the doubt and listen to what he said before deciding to knock his butt onto the pavement.

Turning, hands going to her hips in a stance most would recognize as customary of her annoyance, the beautiful teen directed a glare at the dove gray limousine. Trying not to be impressed that her date had gone out of his way to get such a nice car for her fairytale night, Diana merely waited and watched.

An uniformed chauffer slid easily from the driver's seat and crossed around to let his passenger ascend. The youth said something privately to the man and stepped back from the curb, watching quite calmly as the employee drove away.

The nerve! Diana softly growled at the presumption that not only would she accept him unequivocally after being so late, but that she'd prefer to hang out here on Prom Night rather than go to the hired ballroom and her friends. Well, this creep had another think coming! She couldn't wait to tell her father to bring out grandpa's old rifle, too. That sure would fix the guy.

Her arms moved from akimbo to crossed as she watched the dark-haired, tuxedoed young man walk slowly up the front drive towards her. He was carrying a bouquet, and even from this distance she could tell it was lilac and honeysuckle. A very odd choice for a formal, and last, date but certainly her favorite. She refused to cave in.

"Hello, Diana."

With a start, she did an almost comical double-take. Blinking, stance relaxing in confused wonder, Diana stepped forward to see the young man better in the light. With a soft, confused gasp, the dark-haired teen stopped and shook her head. "Eric Montgomery? What are you doing here?"

Eric smiled, smoothly extending the floral offering, which she took in wonder. "I saw a lady standing in front of a castle and thought she'd be interested in meeting a lonely knight." His voice didn't hold the normal derision he used so often at school. It was soft and filled with laughter.

She couldn't help but respond with her own smile, watching his eyes light up in response. Such beautiful eyes, a deep soulful brown… almost blue they were so dark. She'd never realized just how expressive Eric's eyes were. Of course, normally he was hurling sarcastic comments around, not letting anyone get close enough to even like him, let alone see his true self.

Sniffing the flowers to give herself time, the gymnast thought things over. Sure, it made sense that Eric Montgomery would be driving around town in a limousine; his father owned several after all. It also made sense that he'd be in a tuxedo on Prom Night. Even as a junior with a pessimistic sneer, the son of the richest man in town was quite a date. A girl could absolutely count on being treated like a queen, couldn't she? Montgomery's had a lot of money and no compunction about spending it when they wanted to impress others.

Finally, Diana raised her face and shrugged one shoulder. "What makes you think I don't already have a cavalier waiting in the wings? I don't habitually dress in floor-length just to stargaze."

Her schoolmate frowned momentarily, taken off guard, but he recovered quickly and came back just as smoothly as before with "Ah, but this cavalier was drawn to your shining presence, my princess…"

Nice as it was to trade playful flirtation with him rather than barbs, Diana's heart just wasn't up to it so soon. After all, she'd just been cruelly dumped by a senior the night of the Prom… dumped without even a _Dear Jane_ letter to show for it… or to burn in effigy. "Can it, Montgomery."

He blinked, staggering back as if struck. With a look more of worry than confusion, he seemed to be trying to think of some way to keep her attention. Was he that desperate he had to desert whatever senior had asked him out to hang out with her, even if she was a friend from their days in diapers?

Slowly, he stepped forward, climbing the porch steps to stop in front of the angry young woman. "Sherman is already at the Prom, Diana." He shut up with those harsh words, his normal everyday frown in place. His distrust of people firmly vindicated in this case; her childhood friend had never liked the wrestler she'd casually dated, even if he'd never gotten involved in her romantic life before.

Diana blinked. "Oh." She couldn't think of a single thing to say to that. After all, she'd wondered weeks ago why he'd invited her instead of that Rachel girl he seemed to like so much. Stupid not to think harder on the fact, really. She'd actually wanted to go to the Prom despite the gymnastics meet, hadn't she? Still a bit shell-shocked, Diana glanced over Eric's shoulder, looking for the return of his limousine. "So, where's your date?"

Eric shrugged and turned his dark eyes towards the stars, as if he didn't care about some silly Prom. "Rachel's at the Prom… dancing with Sherman, no doubt." He didn't look at her, anger now evident in his tone.

Ah… so that's how he knew about her date. That also explained why the couple hadn't gotten together immediately; she must have already asked Eric. "Nice of them to watch out for each other." Then, out of the blue, the absurdity struck her. She laughed, startling Eric out of his study of the evening stars.

"Huh?"

"Oh, think about it, Eric. They deserve each other. And in a few months, they'll probably be sneaking out on each other like they did to us. After all, leopards don't change their spots, do they?"

Eric's grin came back and his eyes sparked mischievously. "Not without a great surgeon or a lot of paint."

That took Diana by surprise, but she recovered quickly and they both started laughing at their shared joke. "Hey, Eric, wanna come in for a soda? I mean, if you don't mind staying in the monkey-suit a bit? I'll just go get changed and meet you in the kitchen…"

"Nah." Eric grabbed her arm quickly, but not painfully, startling her into stopping her progress towards the side door. "I was thinking we could stay out here a bit longer." He glanced over her then nodded as if confirming something. "You look beautiful tonight, Diana."

Would this night of endless surprises never cease? Diana looked over herself, almost as if to verify she was still wearing the gold lace and white lame gown she'd slipped on a couple hours previously. Yes, still the same expensive gown. Slowly, the girl raised her chocolate eyes to meet dark soulful ones. "Uh… thanks… Eric."

The raven-haired teen flushed but merely tried to play it off with a cool he didn't normally possess. "Well, you look like you could fit in at one of my mom's dinner parties. Very nice." It was a typical egotistical remark, but somehow, at least that night, it came off as a sincere compliment.

At least, Diana was willing to take it as such. She smiled at him and placed a hand on his traditional black tuxedo. His cummerbund and tie were emerald, probably to match Rachel's gown, but the color was good on him. Besides, Rachel had given up all rights to Eric when she'd gone to the Prom with Sherman. "Hey, Eric… thanks." She stroked the soft sleeve, certainly not the typical _cheap_ tux of the local rentals. "The tuxedo suits you."

"Specially tailored for tonight." Another habitual comment, but also another acceptable one.

"So, what do you want to do? I could give you an impromptu astronomy lesson." She gestured to the clear night sky, smiling at her companion in her typical easy manner. Somehow one of the most annoying friends she claimed had found a way to restore her humor on this most horrible of nights.

"I'd rather dance, Diana." Eric took one hand in his, looking at it, not her face, as if afraid of the rejection he might get; after all, Diana wasn't one to fawn all over his wealth, and without wealth, Eric was just a snob with a monster chip on his shoulder, wasn't he?

Diana bit her lip, then nodded slowly. Okay, her dress wasn't torn badly enough to trip her up and even if Eric couldn't dance, what were a few broken toes between friends, right? He did come to cheer her up, after all, instead of staying home and getting waited on hand and foot… or even bribing some other senior girl to take him to the Prom.

Reaching out to gently touch Eric's hand, Diana smiled at him. "Sure, Eric. What song will we dance to? I don't have a radio out here."

"That's okay… I'll sing." And, to her disbelief, Eric Montgomery had a very pleasant baritone.

-----

Shaking her head, Diana felt tears welling up at the thought that Eric would possibly twist that happy memory just to provide entertainment for the gang. Sure, they didn't know he was singing the same song they'd shared on that aborted Prom Night… but it was still… well… a special song... a special, private memory.

The Acrobat turned a glare on the Cavalier, determined to make his life a living hell for that. Suddenly, however, her eyes met his. Drawing in a sharp breath, her hands clenched, then released. Oh! All anger drained away and Diana felt as if she were transported back to that night so long ago. A night when two friends spent their Prom dancing under the stars to only music they provided themselves. A night when two hearts took one step closer to each other.

Diana sighed as she listened to the words Eric sang to her for the second time in their lives: their song.

Continued in Chapter Four: Homecoming  



	5. Homecoming

Title: Homecoming

Author: Sam  
Series: Say it With Music 04 of ?

Characters: Presto, Varla, Eric, Hank, the others

Rating: PG-13: mild language, lots of angst

Summary: Presto's life, basically. Better than it sounds.

Spoiler: The second season episode "The Last Illusion", mostly, and some of the un-aired episode "Requiem".

Note: This song was indeed used in my series "What's In A Song"; however, it needed a bigger, grander story for it. So here is that story.

Song Note: Inspired by the song _Almost Unreal_ by Roxette from the movie _The Last Action Hero_. I have the lyrics if requested.

Feedback: Feedback: Please? I love comments.

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**1975**

Tugging up the over-sized sleeves on the old suit-jacket, Andrew exposed a tiny clenched fist. His nails were chewed short and ragged, the ever-present dirt of childhood under them. Clutched in determined little fingers was an old brass key, its accompanying lock long lost and forgotten.

The freckled redhead grinned widely, exposing a slight gap and very noticeable overbite. Golden eyes dancing with secret pleasure, the five-year-old fitted the end of the key to the scarred old door of his bedroom closet. Naturally, it didn't fit, too big for the current lock, but the boy seemed unaware or uncaring.

He turned the key, scratching the old graying-white paint of the door. Apparently satisfied, Andrew turned the knob of the already unlocked door. It creaked as he tugged on the out-of-place modern silver knob, the door swinging slowly open to reveal an obscenely clean closet to match the equally meticulous bedroom.

Most children could claim a reasonably ordered room with books, games, and other assorted toys tucked away on shelves and in boxes. Some could even display a disordered heap pushed out of a walking path and reluctantly reorganized upon request of an adult. Andrew Preston, however, could boast only of a bare room with plain wooden furniture and an equally bare closet, clothes hanging neatly and shoes lined up underneath. One wall of the room was lined ceiling to floor with books, arranged as neatly as humanly possible according to size and even color. A step stool was arranged under the bed, to be pulled out and set up if the five-year-old wanted a book off of a higher shelf than his small size permitted retrieval of. All in all, the dust-free, clutter-free room was more a showplace than a child's haven.

The lack of welcoming atmosphere seemed not to bother the little redhead. He merely grinned wider at a sight only he could see. To no visible playmate, he called out merrily, "Now to let the tiger out of his cage." With that, key still clutched forgotten in his tiny hand, Andrew made a pushing motion. "Go on, Tiger."

Letting his imagination run as wild as his invisible animal, the boy squealed in glee and clapped his hands, his eyes following an unseen movement. "Go, Tiger, go!" He bounced happily giggling. After an appropriately long time, at least long to a child of five, Andrew turned back to his invisible playmate. His excitement was barely contained as he opened his mouth to give further details of the mysterious game.

The opening of his bedroom door put a stop to all play, however. His golden eyes widened in shock as the brass key fell from suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter on the polished bare-wood floor. A strangled gasp was the only other sound he made. He wanted to pick up the offending key, but didn't dare draw attention to the scuff mark it had made. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, oversized jacket hanging limp and engulfing his tiny frame, staring in increasing horror at the frowning woman in the doorway.

With a deep frown and a disapproving look, the elderly woman turned regally to a slightly built man behind her. Her voice was austere, unemotional. "And this is Andrew, Mister Halifax. As you no doubt see he is in perfect health." She then turned to the quaking child and seemed to loom just that much larger. "Andrew, what are you doing incorrectly at this moment?"

Fear tinged the boy's voice as he gulped and whispered, "I been playing…"

"No. You must use proper English, Andrew. We do not want Mr. Halifax to think we are heathens, do we." It was _not_ a question.

Andrew shook his head and cringed a bit more, speaking slower than before, yet just as softly. "I was playing with Grandfather's key?"

A gray eyebrow lifted. A steely gaze swept down for the first time to the floor. The woman looked back at the child, frown deepening. "And what else were you doing?"

"Uh…" at his grandmother's disapproving look, the boy hurried to correct his lapse in language skills. "I played with his jacket, too?"

The woman shook her head once then looked down on the child again. "Are we not certain of what we were doing? How can you ask me when I have only entered the room just recently? Try again, Andrew."

Twisting fingers nervously together now, shifting from one slippered foot to the other, the five-year-old gulped, tears welling in his large golden eyes. "I was playing with Grandfather's jacket and key, Grandmother."

She looked satisfied for a bare second then glared down at the child. "Yes, you did. Put them away this instant. After you have done that, you may take out the blue suitcase and wait in the hallway."

He nodded and hurried to pick up the key and walk from the room, moving to avoid touching his relative's long skirts. The last thing he heard before disappearing up the steps to the attic was his grandmother's cold voice stating "You see why I cannot have him here? He is disobedient and rambunctious. His suitcase is already packed and you may take him away as soon as he has finished his task."

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**1978**

Curled in a ball, silent tears running down his face, Andrew Preston tried not to let his sobs be overheard. He was hiding. Trying to listen intently, while ignoring the pain of his injuries, was not an easy task for an eight-year-old. Especially when that eight-year-old was trying to hiding inside a cement tunnel on a school playground.

Someone heard the child's stifled sobs. A shadow blocked the entrance for a moment, then disappeared again. Then a young male's voice rang out, surprising Andrew and making him feel extremely grateful to his unknown rescuer. "Not in here. He must've gone back inside."

The sounds of boys laughing and shouting were heard as several children ran back towards the schoolhouse. After a moment with no further apparent threat, Andrew let himself relax, whimpering in pain. He wanted to scream, his arm hurt so bad, but he didn't dare. Worriedly, the redhead wondered if his arm was broken. He tested this theory by moving his fingers. A person couldn't move fingers with a broken arm, right? He wasn't so sure.

Then the shadow came back, making Andrew stiffen in dread. A slim child slid inside the tunnel and settled down next to Andrew but facing him across the cement expanse. He was perhaps a couple of years older than the boy he'd rescued, with dark hair and equally dark eyes. His clothes were as neat as any adult could like, very dressy with a logo on the breast of the shirt and probably even one somewhere on his sneakers.

Neither child spoke for a few long minutes. They merely remained staring at each other, as if weighing the other's value or possible value. Finally, the other boy spoke in a voice that was more sneer than comfort.

"You must be the school punching bag."

Andrew blinked, too surprised by the tone and words to take offense. "Yeah, you could say that. I'm Andrew… but I'm gonna be a magician someday and I'll change my name to Presto."

"Presto? That's kind of a dumb name. I'm Eric Montgomery. My father is the head of Montgomery Enterprises and I have a pony and my own stereo system." There was a smug tone to the boy's boasts. "My mother has won the Beautiful Garden award three years running."

Another couple of minutes passed, this time with Eric filling in the silence with details about himself. He sure was stuck on himself, but Andrew didn't mind. The kid could talk about himself all day if he wanted; the redhead was too grateful for the save to protest being bombarded with boasts and prideful bragging.

Ringing was heard. Recess was over and the children had to go inside. That wasn't good. As soon as the teacher saw him, Andrew knew she'd make a big fuss and punish the kids who'd hurt him, everyone knew who they were. Those bullies, in turn, would just hunt him down and beat him up again; they always did.

He couldn't escape so easily, though. His foster father would be angry that he'd gotten attacked again. A former boxing champion, Mr. Greeley hated the fact that he was fostering a wimp and a bookworm. The last time Andrew had come home trashed, the man had threatened to send him back to the home.

That was the story of his life, though. Like an unwanted toaster. People kept fostering him, then after a few months they'd take him back, claiming one problem or another. Most of the people he went with only fostered for the extra money anyway. None of them really wanted a _problem child_, as he'd been labeled upon entering the system when he was five. Andrew had never really been wanted in his entire life.

Eric slid from the tunnel then bent to look back in at the injured boy. "You coming, Presto?"

Andrew… no, Presto… nodded, forgetting the trouble he would be in. He hadn't really had a friend before, and this Eric kid was pretty nice. Sure, he was stuck on himself, but he _had_ saved a stranger, hadn't he? Presto gasped, "Yeah, I'm coming," as he tried painfully to follow his new friend.

Eric seemed to realize he was hurt because the older boy rolled his eyes and disappeared.

"What? Wait!" the eight-year-old was stunned by the desertion. "I'm coming, Eric, wait up!" He tried to speed up his wriggling, desperate not to be left behind, unwanted, again. As he made it to the edge of the tunnel, a larger shadow stopped him in his tracks. "Uh…" he gulped.

An adult bent to look into the tunnel and nodded, gesturing over his shoulder. Then he leaned in and gently picked up the injured boy, making soothing noises at Presto's whimpers. "I have him, Young Master. If you would but lead me to the nurse's office." The man was in a uniform of some sort, something that impressed Presto even in the confused, worried state he was currently in.

The raven-haired boy nodded and led his driver into the school, passed the now closed classrooms, and into a sterile room with two cots and a tired looking elderly lady. The woman raised her eyes heavenward upon seeing the patient, long used to treating his injuries by now. The chauffeur put the child on a cot and stepped back with a disinterested look on his features. Waiting outside or waiting in the nurse's office for the school day to end make no difference to him.

Presto passed out.

When he came to, the other boy and his employee were gone. Instead, the nurse was standing off to the side, quietly talking to his foster father. _No!_ Misery swept over the boy. He heard those dreaded words, the ones he knew would come sooner or later: they always did. "I've contacted child services, Mrs. Bostin. I won't have a child in my house who can't keep from fighting." The man's voice covered up anything the nurse might try to say. "They'll be with you shortly. I've got a job waiting for me."

Curling painfully back into a little ball, as if trying to hide from the world in the austere little cot, the tiny cinnamon-haired boy cried himself back to sleep.

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**1979**

Another home, another set of strangers judging him lacking. This was getting real old, real quick. Andrew "Presto" Preston held a battled old blue suitcase with both hands, He glanced around the beautifully decorated hallway. Wood seemed to be the theme, polished and embellished and simply divine. He idly wondered how long it took to keep that hallway dust-free and gleaming.

Footsteps drew his attention… the sound of someone running full-tilt down the steps. Curiously the nine-year-old glanced up, wondering why anyone would be allowed to run inside a house unless his life were in danger. What he saw stunned him further.

A blond boy in jeans and a T-shirt was barreling down the stairs, two at a time. His longish hair looked like it needed a good brushing, and one sneaker was untied. He was maybe eleven or so. However, the real surprise was the equally blond, equally disheveled, man running down the steps behind the kid.

Both were laughing.

Presto's golden eyes widened, but he had to squint again just to make the fuzzy images of the pair a bit sharper. Shifting from one foot to the other, trying not to stare at this odd pair, the redhead wished he could run around like that, having fun and laughing with an adult. It'd be nice to be _allowed_ to have that kind of romp through such a grand place. He'd probably break something, though.

Skidding to a halt, the older boy grinned and held out a well-tanned, muscular hand. "Hey. Call me Hank. Welcome home, Andrew."

Oh, his heart sang at those words. Flushing, trying not to let himself immediately get taken in by the warm welcome, he shrugged and said, "Thanks. I'm Presto, though. I'm going to be a magician someday."

Hank didn't stop smiling. He nodded and accepted the name change, gesturing instead to the still laughing man. "This is Dad. Want me to show you to your room?"

The redhead opened his mouth but was interrupted by the surprisingly deep, happy voice of the adult, as well as a welcoming bear hug! "Welcome home, Presto. Call me Dad if you like. All the kids do. If you'd rather not, there's always Tom… or if you absolutely have to, Mr. Baker. But I hope you grow comfortable enough not to have to be so formal." Tom turned towards the Social Services lady. "Thanks for bringing my newest kid, Anne."

She laughed and shook her head. "Oh, my pleasure. You know he's a troubled boy, withdrawn and moody, likes to fight, tells lies all the time."

Presto was horrified. This woman was ticking off every claim the other foster parents had ever made against him. All of it wasn't true… but she was wrecking his chances at this new home by passing them on anyway. Red heat flushed the boy's pale skin and he couldn't look Hank in the eyes. He really wished his friend Eric was here; he'd give the lady a piece of his mind.

A tug on the battered suitcase drew Presto's attention back to the other boy. Hank was still smiling, and the smile even reached his eyes, startling Presto. "Come on. Your room's got a connecting door to mine in case you need to talk in the night. We can add a night light if you need one; half the kids have them." With that, the blond started up the steps, a bewildered Presto right behind, leaving the Social Worker talking to the Foster Parent below.

Wanting the other boy to like him, the nine-year-old suddenly launched into an embarrassed explanation of the charges against him. "Uh, Hank? She's wrong. I don't like to fight and I don't lie. I…" he gulped, feeling miserable. He really did want to like it here after all. "I get beat up and then I tell them something else happened so the kids don't get in trouble and beat me up again. I like to read and do magic."

Hank was nodding happily. "I understand. The Social Workers don't know what really happens. Some foster parents return the kids like an unwanted puppy and claim the kid did this or that just to make themselves sound good. Dad explained it to us. He says everyone deserves an eighth or ninth chance." The blond turned and winked at the redhead. "Here's your room. If you don't like green we can change it. Mine's green, too."

And for once, Presto felt like he'd truly come home.

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**1981**

Two years, two glorious years gone up in smoke. How could this have happened? What had he done wrong? Presto felt like curling up and crying, even if he was eleven and tears were for babies.

Folding another shirt into his battered old blue suitcase, the too slender, awkward looking redhead hastily pulled off his new glasses and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. He put the glasses back on his face and sniffled.

He had been happy here. For the first time in his short life, Presto had been welcome longer than it took him to cross the front door mat. He'd been encouraged and played with… part of the ever-changing family at the Baker home. Kids were always coming and going here… well, except Hank Knight that is. Apparently he'd been here since he was little and Tom Baker wasn't getting rid of him ever… there'd even been rumors of a possible adoption if Hank's mother, out in California, would sign the papers.

But, Presto had hoped for the same for himself. Dad, as all of the kids called Mr. Baker, was so loving. He seemed to have enough time for everyone, enough hugs and kind words to go around. He knew when you needed help, recognizing right away that Presto squinted because he needed glasses, not because he was rude. He teased, romped, and even helped with homework. Dad figured out what a kid was best at and then helped that gift to flourish. It was like living in a fairytale.

All fairytales ended. Presto knew that. He'd known that since he was five and his grandmother had decided to foster him out. He'd known since finding out that his mother hadn't been married and had given him to Grandmother out of embarrassment. He'd known since he'd come here to a place for unwanted, last chance foster kids and fallen in love with the place… a place kids went whom nobody else felt they could handle. And now, he had to face the end and leave for a home with a mother he never knew and no longer wanted.

If it had been just two years ago, Presto would have welcomed the chance with open heart. To have a real parent, to be part of a real family: it was a dream come true. Now… now he wished she'd just ignore him like the last eleven years and let him stay with Tom and Hank and the others.

A sob broke from the thin body and the boy had to cover his mouth with a trembling hand to keep the noise inside.

The door behind him opened. Thirteen-year-old Hank walked over quietly and started folding the rest of the clothes without a word. His light blue eyes were sad as he worked. Presto let him do it, sinking onto the bed and finally covering his face and letting himself cry. The other boy stopped his chore and slipped his arms around his friend, making soothing noises and rocking him gently.

"Hey, Presto, Dad said you can come sleep over this weekend if your Mom says it's okay."

Presto gulped down another sob, tears streaking his miserable countenance as he glanced up to his foster brother. "Really?" He knew it wasn't what he really wanted, but anything… anything he could get, right? "I… I've… near… nearly… g… got tha… that… new trick… d… do… down, Hank… I…"

"I'd like to see it when you're ready, Presto." Hank tried a smile for the younger boy, "and we'll still be going to school together. You're only one year behind me now."

With a nod, Presto silently stood and started helping to pack. It felt good to be working with Hank. The other boy always made him feel like he was home… maybe going to meet his Mom would be okay, if he could still come back to Hank and Dad every once in awhile…

He sure hoped so.

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**1983**

8:15. She was late… again. Presto sighed and lowered his wrist, frowning out at the starry night. He couldn't wait until he was sixteen and was allowed to learn to drive. Heck, he could pass the test right now if he could just reach the petals.

The short, slim boy of thirteen moved away from the public library's front window, back into the darkened recesses of the tiled entranceway. It was another lonely Saturday night and his mother had neglected to come for him before the library closed. This was pretty much a weekly affair actually, and it was one Presto would have rather not dealt with.

He suddenly hated his life: how the librarians let him stay after closing time because they knew his indifferent mother would inevitably forget to pick him up. How the kids at school took for granted that they could harass him as long as he wasn't with Hank, Eric, or Diana, another friend. How Jimmy Whittaker from next door would follow him to the High School to torment him about showing him another magic trick, then laugh and call it stupid once he'd actually seen it. How Presto inevitably let these things happen, unable to change his life no matter how much he wished it.

He hated how ineffective and stupid he was most of the time. Sure, he was top of all his classes, a full two years ahead of his own age group, but that's not what stupid meant in his particular case. It meant self-conscious and weak. It meant just what Eric said: stupid.

Life would suck worse if it weren't for his friends, few in number as they were.

In fact, the next day he was supposed to meet all three of them at the amusement park. Three friends… and other kids could boast lists so long they had to worry who they should exclude from which party. But, his three were good, true, steady friends, even if Eric took the more than occasional jab at him. He was thankful for those he had.

Besides, there was a chance for another one or two at the park. Hank was meeting up with a girl from class, Sheila O'Neil, and her little brother, whom Hank was tutoring in one class or another. He seemed quite sure that Presto would get along with the other two, and the thirteen-year-old had long ago learned to trust his former foster brother. He'd certainly go into this meeting with an open mind. Two new friends, even one new friend, would be great.

The sound of an incessant horn broke through Presto's reverie and brought him running from the library to slide into his mother's old Buick. She didn't greet him, and he merely nodded to acknowledge her. Mother and son only existed together, the former never really having shown any warmth to the latter. They were blood relations living in the same house; that was all.

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**1984**

"I sure hope he brings a gas mask. I can't stand the stink." Bobby O'Neil's voice rang out through the dank, sulfuric swamp. He was discussing their next meeting with the wise Dungeon Master at a place called the Forbidden Tower. Everyone had been walking for quite some time and no one was happy about the situation.

For two years the six children had been stuck in the Realm of Dungeons of Dragons. Odd as it sounded, they had been enjoying a day at the amusement park when suddenly they were transported through space to another dimension. They'd been following the obscure orders of an aged wizard almost affectionately dubbed DM ever since. It had been sheer hell.

Presto slogged through the mire just like everyone else. Since arriving in the Realm he had been painfully reminded at every turn that you should always watch what you wish for. Ever since he was tiny, he'd wanted to do magic, wanted to be Presto the Wizard. Now he was. Dressed in green ankle-length robes and a conical hat, he looked like a reject from a Renaissance Fair. The others didn't look much more presentable.

Without warning, they were attached by something resembling a giant squid with bad breath. Amid screams, the children drew forth magical weapons provided by their mentor and began to valiantly try to fight back. Presto did his share by pulling of the Hat of Conjuring, though he knew it didn't usually work right.

"Abracadabra, Alaczoo; Get rid of this monster and take the stink away, too." He never really came up with good rhymes, but for some reason it made him feel better to be saying something, rather than merely waving his hand over the hat and hoping for the best.

A shower of white and light pink flower petals burst forth in a cyclone of sweet-smelling snow. The swamp odor was fading under the perfume and there was no sign of their attacker. Triumph rushed through the near-fifteen-year-old. He'd done something right for a change! Then, before he could get too proud and happy, the monster was behind him and he was running and screaming.

Suddenly, like a glow from deep inside, a female voice broke through the fear and directed him towards sturdy ground and a copse of trees. He followed her instructions and soon came to a clearing. Inside, he saw a teenaged girl about his own age lying on the ground. She wore a nightgown and had bare feet. Something about her called to Presto's very soul.

Quickly, thankfully, he stepped forward to take her outstretched hand. A shower of stars, like magic or heart-fire, flowed from where they touched. He could feel her, hear her, even smell her… but there was something a bit frightening about that light display, something otherworldly.

Presto yelped and jumped backwards, eyes widening. "Are… are you a ghost?" He sure hoped not. Just his luck to find a pretty stranger and have it turn out to be some undead life-sucker.

"No." Her voice was soft and her eyes pleading.

The cinnamon-haired teen stepped forward once more and touched her hand, this time ignoring the tingling star shower. He barely heard what she said, but his heart seemed to understand anyway. This girl drew him in, her cascading red hair, her pleading blue eyes… everything about her screamed at his innermost being. Then she was disappearing with the words "I need you."

"Don't go, I need you too!" Presto slapped both hands over his mouth in horror. "What made me say that?"

The soothing voice of DM interrupted his self-searching. "Your heart."

It was only a few minutes later that Presto was once more alone and trying to find the others, pondering privately just what DM had meant by his cryptic words this time: something about growing power. Presto figured he'd understand with a little thought, but he hoped it'd be soon… he wanted to see that girl again.

That desire was pushed back with the attack by a man called Jarroth, and the subsequent rescue by his misplaced friends, had Presto's head swimming. This was quickly topped by a dinner of swamp lizard stew in Jarroth's house as he mourned his daughter's disappearance, his wife tried to soothe things, and Sheila tried to shut Presto up every time he went to mention the girl in the swamp.

Finally, things seemed to be sorting out. Presto told the grieving parents that a girl had saved his life in the swamp. He was going to go on to tell them what Dungeon Master had said when a terrible pain wracked his entire body and a primal scream came from deep inside. The pain was gone within a second, but weakness replaced it just as quickly. The sounds of high wind and explosions finished interrupting their meal.

Everyone ran outside to find fire and lightning everywhere.

When the group of children tried to help save the village, the villagers grew paranoid. They screamed that Presto was a wizard and evil; that he must be locked up. Lorinda came to the boy's defense, but to no avail. Presto was in terrible danger.

Deciding to _show_ his goodness, rather than use words, Presto pulled off his hat and produced, thankfully, a stream of water to quench the fire. Pain wracked him again, as did that need to scream. As the horrible sound escaped his lips, his water turned to fire, his help to an attack, and their proof of purity to surety of their evil, destructive intentions. The six children, and their unicorn companion, were accused anew.

A noble countenanced warrior on a glittering white steed arrived and supported the villagers' fears. He accused the children anew of evil plots. This stranger claimed their Weapons of Power and instructed the townspeople to lock up the newly made prisoners. They would be put to death at dawn. Everything was happening too fast!

Despondency overcame the young Wizard. He lay with eyes closed, head on Sheila's lap as she bathed his face with a cold rag. How could he have done this to everyone? Sure, he'd been unwanted and persecuted his entire life, but now he'd dragged his friends in on it. And rather than just being shipped off to yet another indifferent household, their very lives were on the line. On top of everything else, no one believed that he'd really met up with Varla in the swamp. Presto was so depressed he even turned down Eric's efforts at coming up with an escape plan.

Warmth invaded every pore of the near-fifteen-year-old. His golden eyes opened, wonder starting to blossom. He knew that feeling. Before he could even glance around for her, Varla's voice called out softly, "Over here."

"Varla."

Presto turned over and moved towards her, ignoring the shocked stares of his friends. He only had eyes for this beautiful girl. Kneeling down, again ignoring… no cherishing… the tingling star shower when he touched her cheek, Presto listened attentively to the soft words of his heart's mate. Her skin was soft and warm, though she was just an illusion… Presto was clever enough to have figure that much out. This young woman had a truly remarkable gift.

As the boy listened and stroked the soft cheek under his fingers, a brief commotion happened behind him. Presto's mind was more on the problem of Varla's illusion. It was fainter than before; she was weaker. Venger, her captor, had been using her and causing her the pain he kept feeling. It had to be her pain that made his body burn so horribly.

Suddenly, Jarroth and Lorinda rushed forward. The man tried to take his daughter's illusion in his arms, but she faded away to cries of Venger's newest attack on her. The grieving father whirled around and gripped Presto's shoulders shaking him a bit. But he wasn't angry! Instead, he was thanking Presto for Varla's being alive.

The Wizard knew he had nothing to do with her survival so far, but he wanted to make sure he did in the future.

The next hour was pretty much a blur. All he could remember later was the worry of not reaching Varla in time. When they finally reached the girl, she was so weak she couldn't even stand. Then there was the brief battle with Venger to try to get back their weapons and save Varla. But something had gone terribly wrong, and Varla had used the last of her strength to create an illusion of Tiamat. It had worked; Venger was gone… but at what cost?

At what cost?

Presto followed the others down the long winding road towards the destroyed village below. He couldn't forgive himself. Not ever. He should have found a way to stop her from sacrificing herself. He was a Wizard after all! He should have been able to save her.

When Jarroth ran up and asked after his missing daughter, the Wizard could only bite his lip and shake his head, tears streaming down his face. The father's wails matched the pain in Presto's heart. In a single moment he had found his soul's desire… and in another, lost her again. How could he live without her?

But hope springs eternal, and the versatility of youth is ever constant. Within a very short time the boy realized that Varla couldn't possibly be gone. The burnt out village was still there. She had created illusions of a destroyed town; nothing she had done had truly damaged the place of her birth. If she was still maintaining the illusion of mass destruction… she was still alive.

Presto ran back up the road, his eyes and heart desperately searching for Varla. Was that a flicker? Was that a glimpse of red and white? Yes! The boy sped up, the figure of Varla coming clearer and clearer as he neared the bend in the road.

Suddenly, her smile filled his heart with a warmth he thought he'd never feel again. He ran up, stopping in enough time to catch her as her weakened legs collapsed beneath her. Swinging her into his arms, the normally weak boy smiled with love at the girl of his heart. He had found her again… nothing would ever take her away.

-----

**1986**

Fate could be cruel.

Once more Presto had been forced to leave the people he loved and move on to strange new sights and faces. Sure, he still had his five friends… six if you included the unicorn… but it wasn't the same. He'd only had a few hours with Varla before DM had given them a new assignment, required the group to move on to continue saving a world they'd never asked to be a part of and had struggled to leave time and again.

It was over a year since leaving his heart's mate, but Presto still hadn't forgotten her. He'd had to bury his grief, his misery, only pulling it out in the darkest watches of night. Someday, he'd get back to her; he just knew it. But the surety didn't make the waiting any easier. Over a year of silent, private grief blended with trying to survive in a heartless world… it was a wonder any hope could be claimed.

And finally, the time had come to go home… a home further away from Varla then ever any place in the Realm could possibly be. He hung back as the others stared in wonder at the portal. They were excited, he could feel it. After all, they'd been working for this reward over three years. But somehow, to Presto, it didn't feel like a reward so much as a prison sentence.

He listened to their excited chatter, their plans and hopes, their dreams. They were waiting for the magical entrance to complete coalescing so they might cross the threshold into their own world. All he could think about, though, was that he was leaving again… going back to a mother who didn't want him, like he'd done when he was eleven. His heart screamed in protest at the cruel twist of fate. To have found true happiness a world away and then to be sent back to bitter loneliness.

Straightening his shoulders, the sixteen-year-old felt a strengthening resolve deep inside welling up. He wouldn't go. They'd been given a choice, right? So why couldn't he stay in the Realm? He wasn't needed back on Earth.

"I'm staying."

The others turned in horror, especially when Dungeon Master smiled and softly assured them that the portal would take them where they wished to go, it was a multi-phase door, whatever that meant. Presto nodded, his heart starting to lift for the first time in over a year. He looked at his friends and held out one hand towards them. "Please understand? I… I have to stay…

"Oh, but Presto, don't you want to go home?"

The redhead smiled softly, a look of pure joy crossing his pale features. "Oh, but I am Sheila… Hank…" He turned pleading golden eyes on his friend and former brother, praying he'd understand.

And by some miracle, just as he'd always done, Hank did understand. He stepped forward to clasp arms with Presto, a huge smile on his tired face. "I know you are, Buddy. I know you are."

Then Presto was being pulled into the portal, lights and sensations swirling all around him. He didn't fear it; he embraced it. For this transition was taking him back to his heart's mate… back to Varla.

Continued in Chapter Five: ---when written---  



End file.
